I miss my poor Edgar,
but I cannot return.
He must believe I am gone,
for our love cannot carry on.
For he cannot see,
how much he doesn't mean to me.
Our childhood love stretched into years,
and I foolishly let him drag me down.
Yet my love for him was fading,
the same speed as my need for freedom grew.
Our love has slowly, yet surely, died,
the wingèd envious no longer,
for I have found another.
My other,
my lover,
has called me to see
the freedom he can grant for me.
So my Edgar is left,
while I travel the sea.
Edgar may mourn me,
in his own twisted way.
The model I have left in my place,
might see him today.
His sadness may be strong,
but my happiness is stronger,
my freedom flying,
while I am finally free with my other by my side.
For i have found my version
of Annabel Lee.
YOU ARE READING
Poetry Journal
PoetryHere are my thoughts in poetry. Sometimes random, sometimes not, I hope you like it.
